


Lux mea, Amica mea (My light, My love)

by StackerPentecost



Series: Solas (Light) [2]
Category: Pilgrimage (2017)
Genre: First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 10:58:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18755083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StackerPentecost/pseuds/StackerPentecost
Summary: What happens after a monk and a mute fall in love? Sex, the answer is sex or aka the second part of my Solas series.I mean, come on, we all know Jon Bernthal is packing.





	Lux mea, Amica mea (My light, My love)

**Author's Note:**

> All errors are mine. Again, the words in Italics are Irish with the translations written after. Are they accurate? Fuck if I know. Probably not. What do I look like, someone who speaks any language well? Hah, that's funny.

He wasn’t sure how they ended up in the grass, couldn’t recall lowering their bodies to the earth. But then again, he’d been a little busy. The Mute’s kisses had started slow and soft, but it didn’t take long for the feeling between to them to change, like a lightning strike igniting a tree and setting it ablaze. Soon it was like they couldn’t get enough and he was only happy to let the other man take control, to show him what to do. He’d never done this, had never expected to do this, but every kiss, every touch, every shared breath felt exhilarating and he felt almost euphoric. He’d gasped when that mouth had found his throat, the Mute’s beard scraping against his skin, leaving a flushed red color behind. He didn’t mind, who was around to see? When he felt tongue and teeth against his collarbone, his knees felt weak. Maybe that’s when he had ended up on the ground. Nonetheless, he soon found himself on his back amongst the tall grass, looking up at the blue sky through the treetops. He didn’t have long to contemplate his surroundings though, not when the Mute had planted himself in his lap, hovering as though he couldn’t decide what to do next. 

Diarmuid chanced a look at the man’s lower half and his breath caught at the sight of the bulge in his pants. He had only seen that part of him so briefly but it was like it was seared into his memory. And it wasn’t just that part that he wanted to know, he wanted to know every inch of this man, every patch of skin, every bump and curve and every scar. 

The Mute leaned over him again, kissing him hard before he moved back so he could push the monk’s robes up and Diarmuid lifted to slip the garment off, leaving him completely naked under the older man. 

It was thrilling, as he had never been bare like this in front of anyone, but he couldn’t help feeling a little ashamed and almost shy. But those feelings were quickly pushed aside when he saw how the Mute was looking at him. Nobody had ever looked at him like that, like he was something unique, something to be cherished. It was a nice feeling, one he held onto, reaching out to grab the Mute’s hand and place it over his heart.  _ “Mise.” Yours.  _

That got the Mute’s mouth to turn up at the sides. In his mind, this was nothing either of them needed to feel bad about, not when he’d spent so much time feeling shame for things that deserved shame, things he would spend the rest of his life making up for. This though, this was not one of them. This did not feel wrong, this felt everything but wrong. 

He kissed Diarmuid again before placing the same kisses over his stomach, unafraid of the one area Diarmuid himself would be. The sound he made when he felt the other man’s mouth on his skin was something he didn’t think he was capable of making. He felt like every bit of him was on fire and breathing suddenly became a difficult task. Every kiss, every swipe of a hot tongue left him aching in every way and in every part of his body. He tried not to curse, to not take his Lord’s name in vain, but that was much easier said than done. He both despised and felt relief when the Mute stopped and he had a moment to get his breath back. 

He smiled softly when the Mute was back pressed against him, his nose dragging along his cheek. This had soon become a familiar thing and Diarmuid didn’t mind in the least. If the other man needed to be close like this then that was okay. He liked the affection, something he hadn’t had much of in his life, that was for sure. 

He couldn’t help groaning when he felt a hardness pressing against his thigh, especially when the tunic that he had just finished scrubbing clean came off and bare skin touched his own, adding yet another sensation he had never experienced before. Diarmuid turned his head and found the Mute’s mouth again, kissing him as the other man’s hands were busy untying the leather strings that kept his breeches closed. 

When they pulled apart, Diarmuid’s mouth went dry when the other man shoved his pants down and maneuvered out of them, leaving them both without anything to leave to the imagination. 

The Mute seemed to like this even more, placing more kisses all over Diarmuid’s face, though he did notice how the younger of the two seemed a lot more nervous now. He clearly was faced with something he didn’t know how to do. But the Mute had spent much time soothing Diarmuid in the time they’d known each other. Soft touches spoken in a way they only knew how to read, it was enough to get those eyes back on him. The small smile that he received was enough to tell the Mute that nerves or not, they were still on the same page. 

The Mute kissed along his jaw, shifting to straddle the monk’s waist again. He exhaled heavily when their hot skin touched, enjoying the soft moan the other man made, his hips grinding back almost on their own accord. To the Mute’s silent amusement, Diarmuid babbled out a thanks to their Savior, though he wasn’t entirely sure if he actually meant to do that. 

Diarmuid’s eyes opened when the Mute’s hand found his and squeezed. He huffed softly and did the same right back, watching as the Mute entwined their fingers before carefully wrapping them around the girth of them both. Diarmuid’s heart skipped almost painfully when his fingers touched that part of the other man for the first time. 

There wasn’t a single thing that was small about the Mute. 

The simple touch of their hardness against each other was enough to have slick dripping down from the head of the younger man’s manhood. He wasn’t sure how much he could take, even the little he’d gotten had his head spinning. But he also wanted more, wasn’t sure even if he got it that he would be able to get rid of that ache, that hunger that this man had woken up in him. 

_ “Is dóigh leat go bhfuil slánú agat.” _

_ You feel like salvation.  _

Something in those dark eyes told Diarmuid that they had not reached true heaven just yet. 

The Mute reached to take Diarmuid’s other hand, pinning it against the grass above his head, tangling their fingers together. He kept close, leaning over the smaller of the two, using the strength in his legs to keep him from losing balance. His other hand guided the smaller one of his companion, showing him where to hold and how tightly to grip, what combination would feel the best. All the while, those deep brown eyes never left Diarmuid’s face, taking in every minute change, memorizing everything he saw and storing it away in the back of his mind. 

He’d had too many things ripped away from him to risk rushing through this. He didn’t know if or when he’d get this again. It was not that he expected more bad things to befall them, but he did not want to take the chance and become too focused on the end result. No, he wanted to enjoy every second he possibly could, cataloguing everything just in case. But this was not the only reason for his slower pace. 

This was clearly the first time the young monk had done something like this. He deserved to have it be a great thing, to never live to regret it and to be made to feel the way he made the Mute feel every time they found each other close or shared a knowing look. The Mute wanted him to feel the way he felt about this. That if God had created them all in His own image, that if he had given them this capacity to cherish each other like this, to love each other like this, then how could this be wrong? He knew there were many things he’d done wrong in his life and would have to pay for and did everyday. 

This was not one of them. 

For a moment the Mute paused, thrown backwards in time to a similar situation. How he’d ached with loneliness and grief, having lost everything dear to him. How he felt so much rage and it led him to brutality he would never utter to anyone other than his maker. 

And how through all that, he’d found someone who had cared, who had loved him despite the blood on his hands. How they’d spent nights like this, only his former companion had been so wracked with guilt and shame every time it was over. It took months of coaxing for that to change. It hadn’t mattered in the end. He’d lost everything again, as he had the first time, only that this part of him was cut down before him on the battlefield, not with a bloody scream during childbirth. 

He hadn’t spoken a word since then. Well, until his fight on the beach. 

Diarmuid knew none of this, no one did. Raymond and his men had recognized him somewhat but still hadn’t been able to place him and they were gone now anyway. 

He knew he didn’t deserve the affection of this monk who was still so young. Not naive exactly, not anymore, but so soft compared to the world around them. The Mute worried about dragging him down a dark path and ruining the light that shined so clearly inside him. But he couldn’t help it, couldn’t stay away, especially not now, not when Diarmuid had done everything to help him and keep them both alive. 

So, he would commit every moment to memory, just in case. He’d learned the hard way to value every second he got to have with this person that he cared so deeply about. And in the end, if it happened again and he found himself alone once more, then that was God’s way of punishing him for the blood he’d spilt. 

Diarmuid must have noticed the change in the Mute’s expression, for he was brought back to the present with a kiss that was more sweet than dirty. 

_ “Teacht ar ais chugam.” Come back to me.  _

He apologized with a kiss in return, a few deep breaths allowing him to let go of the past and the memories carved into his mind. Instead, he focused on the task at hand, his hips beginning to move in a slow, languid motion, using their shared grip to make a fist that added just the right amount of friction, the brush of their own wet skin against each other only adding to the feeling. 

Diarmuid whined loudly, cursing even though he had been trying so hard to refrain. A blush had crept down from his cheeks to cover his whole upper body and the peaks of his chest had stiffened in arousal. It took him a moment to gain his bearings after all this, but he was soon matching the Mute’s pace, their hips moving almost perfectly in sync as more slick dribbled down over their hands. The older man could tell Diarmuid would not be able to hold on very long, his lack of experience showing. But he didn’t mind in the least, having wanted his end to be first, to make sure he was taken care of before worrying about himself. 

The boy couldn’t stay still, the hand of his that was pinned squeezing the Mute’s as hard as he could. His head turned from one side to the other, eyes clamped shut and lips parted. He knew what was going to happen, had experienced it a few times before, but nothing as intense as this. He felt like his heart might give out or he might suddenly cease to exist altogether. 

_ “Beidh tú i mo dheireadh.” You will be the end of me.  _

The Mute’s hand tightened their grip, knowing it wouldn’t be much longer now. He kissed up Diarmuid’s throat and quietly uttered the longest string of words he’d allowed himself to speak in a long time, because the boy needed to hear it. The words were jagged and ground out from a voice that he wasn’t sure he remembered how to fully use, but he thought he got the point across. 

_ “Lá amháin, tógfaidh mé thú agus le chéile, tuigimid neamh.” One day, I will take you and together, we will know heaven.  _

Diarmuid cried out so loudly, his whole body seizing. He pulled his hand away from their sex so he could hold onto the Mute as much as he could, his fingers tangling in dark curls. He shuddered, hips stuttering as he rode out the bliss that had taken over his being. His seed coated the Mute’s hand but he couldn’t bring himself to pay much attention to it, not when the sight before him was so beautiful. His heart ached, not in sorrow or grief or even a particularly painful way. It simply reminded him that he would do anything to keep Diarmuid in his life and close to him. If they never left this place, if no one came and ever bothered them again, if he spent the rest of his life together with this monk, one who’d done everything to keep him alive and had even betrayed his vows for him, then he knew that he would be content like he had never been before. 

When he settled, the boy gulped down lungfuls of air, his grip slowly relaxing as he laid back against the grass. His eyes were a little hazy, but he looked happy, warm and relaxed. He smiled widely up at his companion, reaching to touch his cheek with the same reverence he always did.  _ “Foirfe.”  _ He murmured almost dreamily.  _ Perfect.  _ He was rewarded with a kiss, but there was something he wanted. He had not forgotten that he was the only one who had finished. He reached back between them, pushing the Mute’s own hand aside and replacing it with his own. 

_ “Le do thoil, ba mhaith liom tú a fheiceáil, ba mhaith liom tú a chloisteáil agus tú a bhraitheann ar mo chraiceann.” _

_ Please, I want to see you, I want to hear you and feel you on my skin.  _

That was enough to get the other man moving again, this time his speed quick and forceful, the wet sound of skin on skin rising between them. Diarmuid didn’t need to ask where to touch or how to hold, everything he did felt exactly right, made the other man’s lungs burn and the tightness in the pit of his belly finally come undone. 

He grunted, freezing as his head dropped against Diarmuid’s shoulder, the muscles in his shoulders and back contracting as he spilled between them, his breath coming in shuddering pants. Diarmuid helped him along, stroking along the shaft and milking him of every last drop he had to give. 

When it was over, he made sure to collapse onto the grass next to the boy, not wanting to crush him. 

It was a moment before he regained his breath and enough feeling in his body to roll onto his back. When he did, the boy moved closer, though he seemed unsure if this behavior was okay. The Mute wordlessly moved his arm, inviting him in, almost like when he had invited him into his bed the night before. He’d been thinking about something like this happening then, but had refused to cross that line when he didn’t know how Diarmuid felt. He had refused to do anything that might have pushed him away. And just being able to be close to him, to hold him, had been enough. 

He had to admit to himself though, kissing Diarmuid for the first time, allowing himself to feel everything he held inside, to know that he was not alone in his feelings, that he was allowed to touch, had been a great relief. Nobody had ever made him feel quite like this boy did, not when he spent so much time inside his own head, suppressing all the awful things inside in order to keep himself focused on making right all of his wrongs. He was grateful and that was an understatement. 

Diarmuid, for his part, had never felt more content. The sun was warm on his skin and the grass was soft on his back and his senses were filled with his companion, his scent, the feeling of their bare skin touching, the sound of his quiet, steady breathing and the weight of his strong arm wrapped around the monk’s shoulders, hand resting on his chest over his heart. Diarmuid wondered if it soothed the Mute to feel it’s even beating, to confirm that all this was indeed real. He shifted, wanting to be closer to the other man, as close as he could get. They were both still messy, but he didn’t care. Neither did the Mute apparently, turning so they faced each other, the pose they found quickly one that was becoming familiar. They kissed slowly, affection evident in every touch. 

_ “Deirim go ndéanaimid é sin i gcónaí, cad fút féin?” I say we do that all the time, what about you? _

The smile that Diarmuid received in response to his question made his heart warm, loving the way those deep brown eyes had lit up. He was surprised though when the Mute slowly sat up, offering his hand. The monk took it and together they rose. The creek wasn’t far and that’s where the older man led them, stepping back into the water. It didn’t rise very far up their bodies, only up to just about their knees, but it was a pleasant feeling on skin that was still flushed from their earlier activities. The Mute took the opportunity then to clean up his companion, a gentle hand washing his skin. Diarmuid saw the whole thing as just another example of how kind this man was. He clearly could clean himself, but it was now as though since the Mute had been given permission to touch, he couldn’t get enough. When he finished, he kissed the boy’s head and he understood that they should be getting back. They retrieved their clothes and dressed, making the quiet trek back to their shelter.

Night soon fell again, but this time the atmosphere between them was very different. They sat closer together as they shared a meal and Diarmuid noticed that at times he would catch the other man simply watching him, a fond look on his face. Afterward, he checked his companion’s wound and was pleased with how it was healing. He thanked his Lord for that, that he had done enough, that the wound had not gotten infected, that the Mute’s life had been spared. When it was time to rest, they didn’t hesitate to share the bed. 

The fire waned in the fireplace, casting long shadows along the stone walls. The blankets over them encased them in warmth, keeping out the cold. Beneath the fabric of the Mute’s tunic, Diarmuid’s fingertips lazily traced over old scars. Finally, he murmured softly, “We should stay. Not just for a little while longer, but forever.”

When he lifted his head, the Mute was watching him, his look asking several questions at once. 

“We really don’t have to go back, no one will know. We can stay forever, make a life here.” He removed his hand so he could reach to touch the Mute’s cheek, stroking his beard. “You and me, whatever we want. I’m sure there’s a settlement near by. We could use it to get what we need but otherwise we can stay here. We could raise animals and grow a garden and just be. No wars, no violence, just us.”

The Mute seemed to be thinking about his vows, if he was really willing to throw away all that. 

“I’ve already broken my vows to my brothers and to the Church, but I don’t believe I will damned for it. I believe God brought us together for a reason and kept us alive so we could end up here. This is where we belong. And just because I’m not technically a monk anymore, doesn’t mean I don’t have faith.” He kissed the other man softly. “I don’t want to be separated from you ever again. That’s what will happen if we go back and I don’t think I can deal with that. Because this, this is home. Being with you, this is my home. Yeah, this place isn’t perfect, but that doesn’t matter. We have enough and I have you. That’s all I need.” Diarmuid placed his hand over the Mute’s heart. “I love you..” His last words came out soft, like he was afraid that speaking them aloud would make them not true. 

For a long moment, the Mute did not react. But then he was kissing Diarmuid, again and again. When they parted, the former monk knew what that meant. 

He was loved and he had finally come home. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm frankcastlesmuscles on Tumblr.


End file.
